


Ain't Afraid Of Him ('Cause I'm A Fool For Love)

by myheartsinks



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Cuddling & Snuggling, Everyone Is Alive, F/F, F/M, Humor, M/M, because fuck peter, except peter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-03-17 04:33:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3515519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myheartsinks/pseuds/myheartsinks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“I heard that, Hale.” Stiles says from his place at Derek’s desk, still not looking away from the computer screen.</i>
</p><p>  <i>“I didn't say anything!” Derek defends himself.</i></p><p>  <i>“Yes, but you were <i>thinking</i> something negative toward me. I felt it, right in the hole in my chest where my heart used to be before I sacrificed it to the science gods to pass the godawful midterm for my godawful molecular genetics class.”</i></p><p>  <i>“And whose fault is that?” Derek grumbles, picking up the cup of coffee Stiles periodically takes sips out of. It smells dark and rich, and he doesn't hesitate to take a sip of the lukewarm mixture.</i></p><p>  <i>“I’m gonna go ahead and blame Stanford, because the alternative is blaming myself. And I think if I fill myself with any more self loathing than I already have I’ll <i>actually</i> explode.” </i></p><p> </p><p>Alternatively, 5 times Derek says "it's a date," and one time Stiles realizes he's being serious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'm leaving this place behind, and I'm heading out on the road tonight

Look, it’s not that Derek dislikes Greenberg. Sure, he’s not the most competent partner Derek could’ve asked for. He’s not the best with a gun, can’t keep up a sprint for more than ten seconds, and regularly forgets he’s spotting Derek when they go to the gym together. He gets his radio codes mixed up sometimes so they end up calling in a murder instead of a small house fire (somehow Derek ended up taking the blame for that and the Sheriff gave him a disapproving look for weeks. _Weeks_.) He’s constantly late to work (no matter what time his shift starts), always manages to steal the last donut in the break room, and is three months behind on his paperwork. And currently, he’s attempting to show Derek a funny Vine on his phone while the werewolf is climbing a tree, attempting to get Mrs. Wilson’s tabby cat out of it.

Derek fucking _hates_ Greenberg.

“Yo, Hale! Did you watch it, man? I didn’t hear you laugh!”

“Little busy here, Greenberg.” Derek grunts back, wishing he’d taken off his jacket before starting this climb. He’s about ten feet above the ground at the moment.

“Oh, Gertrude! You’re in big trouble when you get down missy!” Mrs. Wilson wails from somewhere below him, one hand clutching her heart while the other quivers on her cane. Derek vaguely remembers her offering cookies in exchange for her pet back, and it’s common knowledge that Mrs. Wilson makes the best coconut oatmeal cookies this side of the country. Knowing he’ll shove three in his mouth in a matter of minutes allows him to maneuver his way closer to the cat.

Greenberg gives her a blank look. “His name’s Derek.”

Derek closes his eyes and wills himself not to jump off the tree and beat Greenberg unconscious. He steadies his breath before reaching out toward the tabby, careful not to flash his eyes in the movement. He’d worn the jacket for a reason - if the cat lashed out and tried to scratch him, he’d have extra protection.

That’s what he was expecting. For Gertrude to put up a fight, hiss at him a bit maybe. Scratch him up until he needs to growl and make her submit, to hop out of the tree looking like he’d just gone through a battle.

What he gets instead is wide green eyes staring at him as a small body fits lazily into the palm of his open hand. 

Derek blinks. Gertrude meows in response.

He cradles her into his chest before making his way down steadily, trying not to freak out at the purring noise the cat lets out.

Mrs. Wilson immediately ushers the two officers into her house, Gertrude refusing to let go of Derek in the meanwhile. He pets her cautiously as Greenberg continues to completely put his foot in his mouth. 

“Oh, look at her! She’s so taken with you, Officer Hale.” Mrs. Wilson is beaming at him as she places a plate of cookies and a glass of milk in front of him. Derek feeds Gertrude his crumbs as she purrs steadily in his lap. 

They manage a record seven and a half minutes until Greenberg becomes too unbearable for Mrs. Wilson to handle, the woman accepting her pet from Derek before the two make their way back to the station.

Greenberg is talking a mile a minute about some kind of video game the whole ride back, Derek tuning him out entirely by cranking up the radio. By the time they make it to the office, Derek has a headache and is considering taking a small nap at his desk for the hour he has left on shift.

His hopes and dreams are thwarted as he gets to his space to find a certain Stiles Stilinski at _his_ desk, sitting in _his_ chair, typing away on _his_ computer, fingers moving rapidly along the keypad and eyes all but glued to the screen.

Before Derek can even open his mouth, Officer Dennis Jones comes over to him looking disgruntled. He’s one of the newer ones, having just started at the department two months ago.

“I tried to get him to leave multiple times, but he kept tellin’ me it wasn’t under my jurisdiction to do so.” Derek claps a hand on Jones’ back in sympathy, knowing full well that Stiles can be the biggest piece of shit in the world when it strikes his fancy.

“I heard that, Hale.” Stiles says from his place at Derek’s desk, still not looking away from the computer screen.

“I didn’t say anything!” Derek defends himself.

“Yes, but you were _thinking_ something negative toward me. I felt it, right in the hole in my chest where my heart used to be before I sacrificed it to the science gods to pass the godawful midterm for my godawful molecular genetics class.”

“And whose fault is that?” Derek grumbles, picking up the cup of coffee Stiles periodically takes sips out of. It smells dark and rich, and he doesn’t hesitate to take a sip of the lukewarm mixture.

“I’m gonna go ahead and blame Stanford, because the alternative is blaming myself. And I think if I fill myself with any more self loathing than I already have I’ll _actually_ explode.” Derek huffs out a laugh, setting the coffee down again.

“So what’re you working on now?”

“Paper for an ethics class. It’s due at midnight and I stupidly left my laptop back at school.” Derek vaguely remembers that it’s a Saturday. Stiles is far enough to dorm, but close enough to come home most weekends. Derek isn’t sure if he prefers one to the other yet, despite it being two years since the arrangement was made.

“You couldn’t use Isaac’s?” Derek raises an eyebrow. It’s not exactly a secret that Stiles spends about eighty percent of his time in the loft Derek and Isaac share, or that Stiles and Isaac absolutely hate each other. Stiles regularly takes Isaac’s laptop without telling the beta because he knows how much Isaac hates it.

“His is broken. Threw it out the window after a fight with Cora.” Derek winces, deciding not to ask any further questions in case he learns more about his sister’s sex life than he already does. She and Isaac share the most dysfunctional on-off relationship he’s ever seen. And he’s counting Scott and Allison’s high school days into that.

“I’m almost done. I’ll treat you to breakfast in the morning if you don’t complain until the end of your shift about this.”

“Stiles-”

“I also made you kale chips. They’re in the bottom drawer.”

Derek stills. He _hates_ kale, glares at the bunches in the grocery store every time he’s food shopping, but in chip form? That’s a totally different story. Kale chips are his weakness, and Stiles is completely aware of this. 

“I used that fancy pink Himalayan sea salt on this batch.”

“God _damnit_ ” Derek mutters to himself before practically ripping the drawer open, grabbing the bag of kale and chomping down. He sees the smirk on Stiles’ face and immediately glares at it. 

“Shove over, idiot. If you’re taking over my computer I should at least get a nap out of it.” Stiles doesn’t disagree, hovering over the chair and letting the older man sit down on it. Derek reclines the seat and stretches his legs, letting out a small growl with Stiles plops down onto his thighs, but otherwise continues eating his chips in silence. Stiles doesn’t seem to be bothered at all to be typing on an incline.

Derek manages to doze off after eating half the bag of chips. One of his hands is resting on his stomach, and the other near Stiles to catch him in case he falls. It's blissfully quiet for a whole half hour as Derek coming in and out of sleep, before Stiles sits up straight and looks around the room suspiciously.

 

" _What_ , Stiles?"

 

"My Greenberg senses are tingling."

 

Sure enough, the man in question enters the office whistling something off key and terrible, face brightening at the sight of his partner's desk.

 

"Stiles! My man, I didn't know you were back in town!"

 

"I'm here nearly every weekend Greenberg, it's not exactly the most exciting news."

 

Greenberg either chooses to ignore the coolness of Stiles' voice or doesn't notice it (Derek is betting on the latter) as he continues chattering away about calling up some kids from their high school lacrosse team and playing a pick-up game tomorrow afternoon in the park.

 

"Dude, you're banned from that park. Remember that time in senior year? With the prank?" Stiles groans, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

 

Greenberg looks shocked. "What? I thought that was a joke!"

 

"There's a sign. 'No Greenbergs allowed' in Coach's handwriting."

 

"That's so… dumb! The whole team did that prank, how come _your_ dumb ass doesn't get a sign?!"

 

"Hey! Watch whose ass you're calling dumb, Greenie."

 

"Bony would be the better adjective." Derek mumbles, eyes closed so he doesn't have to see the glare Stiles is no doubt throwing his way right now.

 

"HEY! I have a nice ass, okay! A nice ass!"

 

"Still bony." Derek punctuates the point by moving his legs side to side, Stiles yelping and clawing Derek's bottom half in an effort to not fall off of the older man.

 

Derek hears the exasperated sigh of the Sheriff, causing him to open his eyes just in time to have a disappointed look shot his direction (god _damnit_ ).

 

"How about we all make a pact to _not_ talk about my son's ass while I'm around, sound good Hale?" Derek winces at the strong hand clapping his back, giving a curt nod while Stiles sputters.

 

"Oh, screw you all! My ass is _nice_! Multiple people have told me so!"

 

Jones snorts at this, and Stiles rounds wild eyes to stare at the officer. "Shove it, new guy."

 

"That's not my name!" Jones looks affronted, huffing and crossing his arms against his chest.

 

"It is now, new guy." There's a slightly manic glint in Stiles' eyes as he smiles, making Derek wary.

 

"Yeah, whatever you say _kid_. Like that'll ever catch on." Jones scoffs.

 

Derek winces at the sound of the door to the break room opening, Jordan humming and typing away on his phone at the same time. There's no doubt in Derek's mind that he's texting Lydia, who's away at CalTech. He's not even sure if they're actually dating, but the amount of times he's caught the two of them in a state of undress is nearing double digits.

"Hey, Greenberg… Derek… Stiles… new guy." He doesn't even bother looking up from his phone as he passes by the group. Jones' shoulders hunch in defeat while Stiles delicately sniffs before settling back down on Derek's legs with a pleased look on his face.

 

"I totally texted him to do that five minutes ago. Me, one. New guy, zero."

 

Greenberg frowns. "That's kinda mean, Stiles."

 

"Shove it, Greenberg."

 

"Hey! At least _my_ ass isn't bony!"

 

"My ass is NOT bony! It's a nice ass!!" Stiles is on his feet again, looking two seconds away from pummeling his former classmate to the ground.

 

"Jesus Christ, _WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT TALKING ABOUT MY SON'S ASS GREENBERG_?" Derek and Jordan flee the scene, settling in for a game of scrabble in the break room as the Sheriff comes out to talk to Greenberg about following orders. Stiles doesn’t even bother hiding the smug look on his face as he finishes up his essay, mind already on the pancakes he’ll steal off of Derek’s plate in a few short hours.

Stiles is finishing up his conclusion when Derek and Jordan come back, Jordan still texting and Derek rubbing his eyes and yawning.

“You look like a tired ‘lil puppy.” Stiles teases as Derek nears, earning him a pathetically small growl. Stiles snorts in response, getting up to help Derek put on his coat. 

“Why’re you so out of it? Was that a double you just worked?” Stiles questions softly, eyes looking worried. Derek’s resting his head on Stiles’ shoulder as his coat is zipped up, yawning before he answers. 

“Double and a half, actually. Had to fill in for Phil for a bit so he could go to his son’s dance recital.” Stiles’ arm hooks around his waist, steady and warm as the younger man’s hand digs into his jacket to grab keys.

“C’mon, I’ll drive you home. You’ll crash in this state, superpowers or not.”  
“You gonna tuck me into bed, too?” Derek grumbles as they leave together, Stiles pushing open doors with the hand that isn’t wrapped around Derek.

“I’ll even read you a story if you’re a good little boy, Der.” Stiles placates as he dumps Derek into the passenger seat. He hears the werewolf mumble something about sausage as Stiles secures the seat belt around him.

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll go to the diner as soon as you get up tomorrow alright? You can get all the sausage and eggs they have, go full Ron Swanson on the place.” Stiles sends a text to his dad to let him know he’ll be at Derek’s for the night before easing the minivan onto deserted roads. 

“ _All_ the sausage and eggs?” Derek questions as he fights to keep his eyes open. 

“All the sausages and eggs.” Stiles confirms as he messes around with the radio stations before he settles on the classical one.

“Good. ‘t’s a date.” Derek grumbles. Stiles looks over to see the man fast asleep, and he can’t help but let out an amused snort. 

“Whatever you say, idiot.” He lets the smooth sounds of Tchaikovsky guide them home.


	2. Take Your Time, Let The Rivers Guide You

Stiles can’t help but whistle happily as he opens the door to his dorm room, mentally going over the human skeletal anatomy practical he just aced. In fact, he’s thinking about celebrating with a glass of wine (possibly a whole bottle in all honesty), but that goes out the window completely when he notices a rather familiar figure playing Call of Duty with two of his suitemates.

“Robbie, Robbie on your right-”

“Anton, cover me!”

“Cora? Cora, where are you, we’re in the next room over - oh FUCK -”

Stiles watches them for half a minute before walking over to the mini-fridge. He feels no remorse whatsoever uncorking the nearest bottle of red wine and drinking it straight out of the vessel. He makes his way into his room, shutting the door behind him and wastes no time faceplanting onto the bed (careful not to spill the wine anywhere), before digging his phone out of his pocket and speed dialing ‘2’. 

“Stiles, now’s not-”

“Why is your evil little sister playing video games with the suitemates I hate?” Stiles cuts Derek off, well aware of how whiny he sounds. There’s a moment of silence on the phone.

“I… have no idea, in all honesty. Why don’t you just ask her?” 

“Because she’s currently killing things in Call of Duty? Do you not listen when I speak?”

“About three fourths of the time no, not really.”

“That’s a lie and a fib.”

“Aren’t those both the same thing? Is this a new slang saying? I barely understand this whole thing behind ‘yolo’, Stiles, I can’t process more.”

“Der, yolo was so two years ago. Now it’s all about running through the six, with your woes preferably.”

“What? What does that mean? Liam and Mason kept saying that they were going to get lit this weekend. Are they lighting themselves on fire? Is this like the bath salts thing?” Stiles can’t help but let out a loud, bright laugh at the confusion and concern in Derek’s voice.

“Tell you what, when I’m home next we can go over all the lingo you need to learn the meanings to.”

“Really? Because I wrote down a few. I was gonna ask Isaac but he’s been stressed out with school lately. Deadlines and stuff, I think.” Stiles takes a long swig out of his bottle before replying.

“Deadlines? As an English major? What’s the hardest thing he could possibly do, write a poem in iambic pentameter? But hey, maybe that’s why Cora’s here.” The muffled sounds from the common room are increasing in noise, Stiles frowning in response.

“Hey, just because you’re in the sciences doesn’t mean you can belittle the liberal arts fellows. Listen, I have to go now.” Stiles thinks he can hear growling in the background.

“Is everything… okay?” 

“Yeah, it’s swag. Keep it 100, Stiles.” The dial tone hits before Stiles can even formulate a response other than gaping at the air in front of him. He hangs up and drinks down some more wine, contemplating texting Liam to leave Derek alone before thinking against it. It took the pack a long time to be comfortable and trust one another, and Stiles finds it kind of adorable that the youngest members bond so readily with the oldest one. 

The door to his room opens suddenly, and an uncharacteristically shy looking Cora comes in. She’s taking in the details of the room - Stiles’ small library in the corner, the desk that’s neatly organized next to the one that has half folded laundry on it, the two twin beds pushed together to make a massive bed in the middle of the room - as she shuts the door behind her.

“If I knew your roomies were so cool before I probably would have visited sooner, Stilinski,” she jokes.

“Suitemates. And they’re not cool. Anton probably only talked to you because he wanted to fuck you, and Brad’s in that frat that just got busted for hazing their pledges by raping them.” Cora flinches at his words.

“Well, fuck. Sorry. I followed your scent to your classroom first but I didn’t know how long it would last. So I followed it again to here, where it’s most concentrated.” She takes a cautious seat at the foot of his bed. Stiles rolls his eyes, but hands her the bottle of wine that she readily accepts.

“Yeah, I figured. I was just surprised is all. I don’t think any of you have ever visited me at school.”

“Not even Derek?” Cora asks curiously, handing him the bottle of wine back.

“Not unless you count the time we had to set my wendigo roommate on fire. Hey, don’t give me those eyebrows! He tried to kill me in my sleep like, twice. We made it look like a suicide anyway, no one is none the wiser.” Cora gives him an unimpressed look.

“So that’s why you get this big room to yourself.”

“Yeah, free room and board too. Something about emotional distress in this trying time, yadda, yadda, yadda. But, enough about me. What the hell is up with you? What’re you doing here?” Cora sighs dramatically before dropping down onto the bed. Her head rests on Stiles’ stomach, his hand moving to comb through her hair. 

“I needed to be with someone who would hate Isaac as much as I do currently.” She admits.

“Uh oh. What happened now?” Cora huffs angrily in response, and Stiles gets the feeling that that’s all he’s gonna get out of her. They lie together in silence as Stiles finishes up the bottle of wine, smiling at the hazy warmth that spreads through him as a result. 

“Hey c’mon, get up. We can talk shit about Isaac in the dining hall. I need to sober up in time to drive us back to Beacon Hills.” He gently pats her head before pulling himself out of bed.

“How’d you know I ran here?” Cora asks suspiciously as Stiles picks up his keys and ID card.

“Honestly, I assumed you took the train like a normal person would do, but I keep forgetting that you’re a goddamn lunatic.” Stiles sidesteps her arm as it comes to punch him, cackling and running out of the room. They have a battle in the common room, Stiles using various objects lying around the subdue her. It’s only until they jump in front of the television and get cursed out in Russian that they leave for the dining hall, Stiles indignantly speaking Russian back to his roommate before slamming the door behind him.

“You can speak Russian?” Cora questions as they round the corner to the stairwell, Stiles waving to a few people as they pass by.

“Yeah, my mom and babcia taught me when I was younger. Polish too, but there aren’t many people on campus that speak fluent enough for me to practice with. Did you really not know this? I mean, why did you think we got killed that vila last year so easily? I could read the text and figure out how to get rid of it without learning a new dead language.” Stiles shrugs at Cora’s astonished look.

“You’re something else, Stilinski.” 

“Yeah, you’re not the first to tell me that. Anyway, welcome to Lakeside dining! The pasta bar is kind of hit or miss, but the watermelon in the fruit stand is always bangin’. Now c’mon, I’m gonna grab some cioppino before it sells out and then we’ll sit down and talk about how stupid Isaac looks in that new ugly brown cardigan he just bought.”

Cora grabs a sandwich from the vegan options and they eat outside together, coming up with more and more ridiculous ways to strangle Isaac with his own scarves until Cora’s red in the face and howling with laughter. The pair finish up their food and proceed to gorge themselves out on ice cream, catching up comfortably. They make the trip back to Stiles’ dorm where he stuffs his laptop and a few textbooks into his backpack and gets into another angry Russian shouting match with Anton, but they make it to the jeep without further incident. The sun is setting and they’re screaming along to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs CD Stiles has on as they hit traffic heading onto I-580. It’s only when Karen O starts crooning about cheated hearts that Cora reaches over and gives Stiles’ hand a soft squeeze. He flips his hand over so he can interlock their fingers together, squeezing back.

“Thanks, Stiles. I kind of really needed that.” Cora admits softly.

“Hey, anytime. I’m always down for smack talking Isaac.” Stiles jokes, pleased with the way Cora gives him a bemused smile in response. “But hey, in all seriousness. I kind of hate seeing you like this, and as much as I want to stab Isaac with a wolfsbane infused knife, I kind of wanna see you happier more. So how about when I drop you off at the loft you at least try to talk to him?”

Cora doesn’t say anything, but she does squeeze his hand. Stiles takes his as confirmation and turns the music back up, singing along as loud as he can.

\---

He doesn’t even really think about it at first, but it does pique his curiosity when he drives by and sees a familiar car in an unfamiliar driveway. He drops Cora off at the loft before making his way back, parking his car next to Derek’s and stealthily making his way to Mrs. Wilson’s front porch. He could always say he was just coming over to borrow a cup of sugar or something. Or to mow the lawn like he did when he was younger. He grabs the key underneath the planter before opening the door (old people, so typical), carefully moving so no cats escape as he makes his way inside. He inhales the warm scent of cinnamon and blueberries in the air as he makes his way to the den.

Where he sees Derek.

Who’s sitting on the couch, looking absolutely gobsmacked as he’s surrounded by cats.

Surrounded by cats. 

If Stiles was a better man, he would’ve been able to hold in the laughter that bubbles out of his throat at the sight. He probably would not have quickly snapped a picture as well, scrolling through Instagram filters before settling on the right one and posting the picture for the whole internet to see. But alas, Stiles was a twenty year old piece of shit college student who had no qualms with his actions.

Derek is frowning and red in the face as Stiles sticks his phone back in his pocket and walks toward the older man, picking up two cats and making a place for himself on the couch as a result. The dozing felines don’t put up much of a fuss as Stiles transfers them onto his lap, lazily petting behind their ears.

“Fancy meeting you here, Derek Sampson Hale.” Derek just frowns harder, which makes Stiles’ grin all the more brighter.

“That’s not my middle name, Stiles.”

“I know, grumpywolf. You refuse to tell me what it is!” Another cat joins the two already in Stiles’ lap, making him sink deeper into the couch as he splays out next to Derek. 

“I don’t trust what you would do with that information.” There’s a cat purring happily on Derek’s chest, another curled on his shoulder, one in his lap and a kitten safely tucked in between his hip and arm. Stiles carefully moves so his feet can rest on the coffee table in front of them, angling himself to rest his head on the part of Derek’s chest that doesn’t have a cat napping on it. 

“Jeez, can’t a man accidentally order a record player on another man’s credit card whilst drunk and possibly high in peace, Derek?”

“Stiles, you didn’t order just one, you ordered ten record players.”

“Hey, you’re the one that gave me the card!”

“Yeah, to buy gas for your trips to and from school, not to try and ruin my credit score.”

“First of all, you also said in case of emergencies. And it was an emergency to drunk me. And it turned out alright in the end! Everyone in the pack got a record player, and we have those awesome record swaps every now and then. You kind of love it, don’t lie.” Derek doesn’t respond, and Stiles takes it as a win. He burrows himself further into Derek’s side and chest, smiling happily.

“What’re you doing here, anyway? I thought you were gonna stay on campus this weekend.” Derek asks after a few silent moments. He moves his arm to wrap around Stiles, pulling the younger man even closer. 

“I was, but then I had to drive Cora back home. I’m kinda glad I did, otherwise I wouldn’t have found out about your dirty little secret.” Stiles teases. The cats move around the two of them easily, finding the warmest spaces and settling in. Derek picks a grey one up, putting her on his lap before gently petting the cat.

“Mm, you’re good with them, Der. How long have you been cat-sitting?”

“Only a couple of weeks. I rescued Gertrude out of a tree again the other day and kinda got roped into watching the cats whenever Mrs. Wilson is out at crochet club.” Derek admits, his arm rubbing up and down Stiles’ as he speaks.

“Well how very heroic of you, Officer Hale.” Derek rolls his eyes, moves his hand to give Stiles a hard poke on the side.

“You’re not nearly as funny as you think you are, Stiles.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, tell me something I haven’t heard before. Hey, when does Mrs. Wilson get back? Wanna make me a home cooked dinner so I’m not stuck living off of overprocessed campus food for the rest of my life?”

 

“Serves you right for picking the most expensive meal plan. I told you, go with the cheapest one and cook yourself dinner, but noooo-”

“Derek, I don’t have time to make myself dinner every night, dummy. There’s this thing called homework, I don’t know if you had it in your day and age-”

“Alright, alright. Mrs. Wilson gets back in fifteen minutes. We can make a quick stop at the supermarket and I’ll cook you something that isn’t laced with laxatives, you brat.” Stiles smirks, moving his head up to bite Derek’s ear in affection.

“Thanks, Der-Bear. Hey, you think Mrs. Wilson will notice if I move the kibble to a different cabinet?” 

Stiles never finds out the answer to his question, Derek trapping him onto the couch to make sure Stiles doesn’t cause any unnecessary mischief. Stiles would usually be upset about it, but they leave with freshly baked lemon squares and he goes to bed with shepherd's pie still warm in his stomach. All in all, it’s a fair trade off.

\---

Cora’s visit opens up a flood gate for the rest of the pack. Stiles gets back from his biochemistry lab to see Scott beaming and holding the newest Metal Gear Solid in his hand. They buy a ridiculous amount of Mountain Dew and Doritos and spend the whole night playing and laughing together. Any time Stiles dozes off during his classes the next day, he silently curses his alpha while pouring himself another cup of coffee.

Kira skips class at UCSF for a day and comes down to visit with Malia, the three playing a raucous game of hide and seek across campus that somehow gets three dozen more people involved. Derek wrestles him onto a couch and threatens bodily harm if he doesn’t take a quick thirty minute nap at the library the night before the midterm in Stiles’ ethics class. Parrish shows up the day after and offers to take Stiles out to lunch, which the college student readily accepts. 

Allison stops by right before he’s scheduled to go to nonlinear dynamics, and he manages to hassle her into attending the class for the sole purpose of laughing at her adorably confused face as his professor lectures excitedly on the renormalization description of the transition to chaos. Erica and Boyd make him go out bar hopping, Stiles returning mortified after realizing his biochemistry TA just saw him do a body shot off of Erica. Even Isaac stops by, offering Stiles a handle of vodka as a peace offering. Liam and Mason accompany him, and Stiles takes them out to a Stanford soccer game that everyone thoroughly enjoys. Stiles appreciates everyone making the trip out to see him, making sure to schedule plans to head over to other campuses as well. He misses his pack, and talking over the phone or by Skype just wasn’t the same as seeing each other physically.

Lydia’s lounging out his couch when Stiles gets back from human skeletal anatomy the day before thanksgiving break starts, and he doesn’t hesitate before flinging himself onto the couch right next to her. She lets out an amused huff and he rests his head on her lap.

“Rough class?” Lydia asks.

“My professor is just so fucking annoying. Like, unnecessarily specific and kind of a perv and ugh, I need to think about something else. How’s CalTech? You miss me down in L.A.?” 

“Every hour of everyday.” She deadpans, nonetheless scratching her fingernails into his scalp lightly. 

“I knew it, Parrish was just a front this whole time wasn’t he? Don’t worry Lyds, I forgive you for taking this long to tell me your true feelings. How many kids do you think we’ll have? Three? Eighteen? Can we name one of them Anakin?”

Lydia doesn’t get the chance to reply as the front door bangs open, Anton and a girl locked at the lips as they rush in. There’s clothing coming off rapidly and noises that Stiles does not need to know Anton could make. He and Lydia rush out of the room before bras and underwear come flying off, instead making their way back to Beacon Hills for an extended stay.

The pair stop by at the local coffee shop when they get back into town so Lydia can eat the caramel chocolate brownie she’d been craving for the past month. Stiles teases her about running circles around her classmates in most of her classes, Lydia retorting that he was clearly the nerdier of the two given that he had chosen biophysics as his major. They carry on with light and comfortable conversation as they drive around town, making a stop at the police station so Stiles can greet his father. The two make plans to have dinner at the house together after the customary too-tight-but-oh-so-right Stilinski hug. Lydia demands that Stiles drives her over to the loft where he has no doubt Parrish is currently located, but he hasn’t seen Derek in four days and he kind of misses the werewolf’s face.

Just as Stiles predicted, Parrish is at the loft when they make their way in. Boyd, Scott and Liam are trying to figure out how to connect the new Blu-ray player they just got to the tv. Erica, Kira, Allison and Isaac are due to be back later that day, and Malia and Mason are still at the high school finishing up after school activities. Stiles will never admit it, but his heart soars with happiness knowing that his pack will all be together again in a matter of hours. 

Cora’s writing down everyone’s Chinese food orders for lunch as Stiles makes his way to his destination. It’s unbearably warm as he gets to Derek’s room, not at all surprised to see the werewolf cuddled into his sheets.

“Hey, sleepywolf.” He teases as he attempts to get his sweatshirt over his head. He trips over his shoelace in the process, wind knocked out of him as he lands rather ungracefully on Derek’s bed. Derek makes a wounded noise at the intrusion, lifting his head and blinking blearily. He reaches out and grabs Stiles, rearranging him until they’re wrapped around each other. Derek has his head shoved in the junction between Stiles’ neck and shoulder, arms hugging the younger man close to him.

“Derek Socrates Hale, calm down there. People might think you actually enjoy my company.” 

“ ‘S not my name Stiles, fuck’s sake.” Derek growls out, moving his feet to kick off Stiles’ shoes with practiced ease. Stiles rolls until he’s on his back, taking Derek with him. He rests a warm hand on Derek’s tattoo, the other playing with the hair on the back of his neck. 

“Missed you.” He whispers as Derek sniffs into his neck. 

“Missed you too, asshole. Now shut up and sleep.” Stiles chuckles at how adamant Derek sounds, but closes his eyes and lets his breath even out. He lets the feel of Derek’s smooth stubble on his chest soothe him to sleep. 

\---

 

Stiles wakes up with a sheen of sweat covering his back and a bladder ready to burst. He manages to extract himself from Derek’s octopus-like grip and goes to the bathroom attached to Derek’s room. Allison’s high pitched laughter lures him downstairs, where he’s able to greet everyone who’s shown up before he passed out. 

“You alright there, Stiles?” Erica taunts, petting his bed head. The pack around him lets out laughter.

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead and make fun of Stiles for napping after his stressful, midterm filled week. Go ahead, assholes.” He makes his way over to the fridge, taking out left over lo mein and popping it into the microwave. 

“Hey we were thinking about a round of basketball before dinner. You in, Stilinski?” Mason asks. 

“That’s the one with the orange ball, Stiles.” Isaac mocks, pointing to the ball that Liam and Scott are playing around with.

“I know what a fucking basketball is, Lahey. Why don’t you go write some more sad poems about Cora’s cold heart instead of bullying the resident human?” Stiles turns to Mason before Isaac can retort. “Y’know what? Yeah, I’ll play basketball with you guys. What’s the worst that can happen?”

\---

Stiles is squirming as the doctor weaves stitches into the gaping hole on his forehead twenty minutes later, taking no offense to the snickers the pack members release in the hallway with him. He really had no right to. He had brought this upon himself. He can’t help the groan that escapes him when he sees his dad stalking down the hall in full uniform.

“Three hours, Stiles! You’ve been home for three hours, and you’re already in the hospital. Do you think this is a game, son?” His dad’s tone is dry, but there’s concern in his eyes. 

“In the basketball game of life dad, I’m a mere field goal penalty.” Stiles snarks back, flinching when he feels the needle run through his forehead again. He listens to his dad entertain everyone’s ‘ball is life’ jokes, head tilting to the side a few minutes in. Scott and his dad look at him curiously.

“My Derek senses are tingling.” As if on cue, the man in question comes rushing onto the scene.

“Stiles, you absolute idiot!” Derek stops right in front of him as the doctor seals the stitches, worry evident in his eyes. He brushes his thumb along Stiles’ forehead, frowning.

“Calm down, worrywolf.” Stiles chastises him, nonetheless allowing Derek close enough to wrap his sore arms around his shoulders, legs twisting to lock around his back as well. The werewolf makes a wounded noise as he hugs back.

“I thought we all agreed not to call Derek!” Scott complains.

Derek turns around from his resting place on Stiles’ shoulder to peer over the group. “The hospital called me. I’m Stiles’ emergency contact.”

“Wow, who saw that coming huh. Raise your hand if you’re not surprised in the slightest.” Isaac whispers under his breath, but Allison’s confused question overshadows him.

“Then why is the Sheriff here?” 

“Well, er… Melissa called me.” Stiles’ father looks uncomfortable, but answers nonetheless.

There’s immediately a cacophony of noise, of teasing ‘oooh’s’ the beginnings of a nursery rhyme before Stiles good naturedly calls everyone off, happily taking into account the red in his dad’s cheeks and the dumb little grin on his face. Stiles smiles back.

“Well hey, it looks like I’m all patched up and ready to head out. You promised me a nice dinner, Pops.” Derek helps him down from the exam table so Stiles can throw a sore arm around his dad. 

“That I did, son. Do your friends want to join us?” 

“Oh, can we go to Minnie’s diner? I’ve been craving chicken and waffles ever since Malia mentioned them three days ago.” The Sheriff nods at Kira’s plea, and driving arrangements are made.

Stiles isn’t the least bit surprised when Derek all but drags him into the mini van's passenger seat. Stiles explains what happened as they drive to the diner, making a note to look up the statistic for people who manage to dive headfirst onto concrete and bust their face open in an effort to protect their teammate from a foul. 

Minnie greets them happily, the pack taking up the whole back portion of the diner and covering it with excited chatter and boisterous laughter. Stiles orders a monstrously huge panini as he listens to Scott tell him about the latest shenanigans he’s gotten into with his frat brothers. He’s full and warm and happy to have this back after so long when he leans his head onto Derek’s shoulder, hooking his right leg over Derek’s left. The werewolf continues his conversation with Lydia on the computational fluid dynamics course she’s currently taking as he rests a warm hand on top of Stiles’ leg, cutting up his remaining pancake into pieces before handing Stiles the fork. Stiles moans after he finishes the last piece, the hand on his thigh moving to slip underneath his shirt and up his back in response.

“You alright?” Derek asks, Stiles sighing gratefully when he feels the familiar pull of the werewolf taking his pain away.

“‘M fine, just full. Thanks for coming to the hospital, by the way. I know you just finished up a double. I’m sorry.” 

“Yeah, well try not to injure yourself in an effort to make sure someone else doesn’t get hurt instead next time, alright?”

“I make no promises on this particular issue.” 

“Dumbass.” Stiles doesn’t need to be a werewolf to feel the affection behind the comment. He smiles into Derek’s shoulder, watching Kira finish up her waffle.

“Damn, I should’ve gotten the chicken and waffles too now that I think about it.” Stiles frowns, rubbing his stomach and pondering whether he could fit that in without exploding. 

“We can come back before you head back to school and get some if you want.” Derek offers casually.

“Really?” Stiles looks at Derek, hopeful.

“‘Course.” Stiles grins brilliantly before nodding.

“Awesome, Der. Friday work for you?” Stiles mentally goes through what he needs to do for school, pretty sure he could fit in a meal or two around his workload. 

“Yeah, Friday’s fine. It’s a date.” Stiles snorts, but doesn’t say anything when Derek pulls him closer. Stiles lets the sounds and happiness of the pack around him lull him to sleep, feeling safe and comfortable around all the people he loves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter is re-uploaded! I realized I posted the pre-beta one before. I'm working on the next one currently, and it should (hopefully) be up within the week :)


	3. 'Cause You're Oh So Pretty When You Stand On The Edge

“Good afternoon, and thank you for calling the imaging clinic at Stanford hospital. This is Stiles in the pediatrics department speaking, how may I help you?” There’s a beat of silence that he uses to finish scanning in the last patient’s history sheet before a familiar voice is responding in his ear.

“Jesus, Stiles. Do you have to say that every time you answer the phone?” Stiles immediately groans unhappily, which makes the little boy waiting for an EKG across from him giggle.

“Before we proceed, I must let you know that this call may be monitored for quality assurance purposes. Would you like to continue with your inquiry?” 

“Look, I get that you’re mad but don’t you think you’re taking this a little too far?” Derek sounds like he’s two heartbeats away from a meltdown, but Stiles refuses to relent.

“Sorry sir, I don’t think you understand. This is the radiology department. We can’t help you with the painful rash between your buttocks, but I can transfer you over-” The kid, who Stiles understands to be named Parker from his chart, bursts out laughing at this.

“Stiles, _please_ -”

“-to another department that can help. Unfortunately I don’t think anyone will want to take your case Mr. Hale, given how you-”

“-Haven’t had a chance in the last week to explain myself and my decisions? Good point, Stiles. Maybe while I have you on the phone for longer than the five seconds it takes you to hang up usually, I’ll be able to!” Stiles rolls his eyes at the tone Derek has, before responding.

“Nah, I don’t think you’ll actually get the chance at all.” He hears Derek let out an annoyed sound as he slams the phone down. Stiles glares at the phone until he has to check in a patient, residual anger clinging to his scrubs like a second skin. He shakes himself out of it and passes a few minutes throwing a wad of tissue back and forth with Parker. He’s just managed to claim victory for the third time when he hears a throat clear at the front desk.

His eyes narrow at Derek in uniform in front of him. “You’ve got to be freaking _kidding_ me!”

“I need a chest x-ray.” Derek says calmly, sliding a prescription over to Stiles, who lets out an indignant squawk as he grips it.

“This is _pediatrics_!” Stiles huffs, crossing his arms and glaring.

“And radiology!” Derek argues, irritated frown set on his face.

“You don’t even _need_ an x-ray! And if you did, it would probably be for your _head_ to see if there’s a pea-sized _brain_ in there-” They’re interrupted by a booming, female voice.

“Stilinski! This is a hospital, not a telenovela! Take tall, dark and handsome somewhere else if you’re gonna hash it out!” Head nurse Carla is glaring at them, Stiles giving her a sheepish look in response.

“Sorry, sorry. I’ll just - I’ll be right back.” He grabs Derek by the cuff of his shirt, dragging him down three hallways until they’re out of hearing range from the waiting area. The fury Stiles previously felt comes crawling back on their journey, and he halts before turning around and punching Derek straight in the face. Derek just takes it, letting Stiles get in a few more punches wherever he can reach, before grabbing both his arms, resting them on his uniformed chest. 

“I’m sorry.” He says quick and soft, before Stiles gets the chance to do anything else. The college student gets a look at Derek, at the slight circles under his eyes and the messy hair. He sounds more tired than Stiles remembers, and all the fight leaves him.

“I hate you.” Stiles moves closer and bumps their foreheads together, Derek taking a chance and moving both his arms to curve around Stiles’ waist. 

“Okay.” Derek agrees easily, tension leaving his shoulders almost completely.

“You can’t just sideline me like that.” Stiles mumbles into Derek’s chest, letting his hands fist into the older man’s shirt.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I just didn’t want you to worry.” There’s a gentle hand rubbing up and down his back. Stiles lets out a wet laugh.

“I’m always worried, idiot.” Derek responds by gripping him tighter and rubbing their cheeks together.

“Forgive me?” Stiles almost doesn’t hear it, but his hands tremble at how vulnerable Derek sounds.

“Always.” Stiles promises, moving his hands to give Derek’s shoulders a squeeze. He opens his mouth to speak, but Derek’s beeper goes off before he can say anything. 

“Shit.” Derek moves away from Stiles, frown set on his face as he squints at the message flashing on the screen. Stiles looks at him concernedly, hand moving to rest on the older man’s cheek.

“That’s it, I’m making an appointment with Dr. Wong for you. You’ve been squinting like that too much lately. I’m pretty sure you need glasses, dude.” Stiles is mentally going over Derek’s off days for the next week, trying to find a viable opening.

“Don’t call me dude. And I’m pretty sure I gotta go. I’ll call you tonight, though, update you on everything. Are you actually gonna pick up this time?” There’s a slight teasing tone in his voice, but Stiles sees the flicker of doubt in his eyes.

“And I’ll even talk to you for longer than five seconds.” Stiles promises, making Derek’s frown soften slightly. Stiles feels Derek’s hands on his cheeks before there’s a tender kiss being pressed onto his forehead. Stiles leans forward and rubs their noses together quickly before taking a step back.

“Stay safe.”

“Always.” Derek promises, before giving him one last hug and hurrying down the hallway. 

Stiles hears a wistful sigh followed by the unmistakable crunch of popcorn as he watches Derek go. Blinking confusedly, he turns around to see every staff member in the break room watching him intently, nurse Martha passing around a bowl of popcorn.

“You heard all of that, didn’t you.” Stiles is _so_ done.

“Mhm.” Nurse Michelle agrees, chewing around a fresh handful of popcorn.

“You’re going to somehow use this against me in the future, aren’t you.”

“Not if Deputy Handsome has a brother you can hook me up with.” Leers Sonya, the head doctor of the neurology department.

“I’m just - I’m just gonna go and finish up my shift and hope you guys haven’t told all the other nurses already.” Stiles heads back to his desk and gives Carla a sheepish grin as he sits down, immediately hit with a ball of tissue. Before he can retaliate at Parker, who’s still in the waiting room, a doctor comes and calls out his name. Stiles feels no regret sticking his tongue out at the small boy, especially when it results in a giant peal of laughter.

\---

Stiles is a half hour late when he stumbles into the cafe Lydia picked for their monthly no-werewolves-allowed meeting, nearly braining himself straight into Danny’s hazelnut latte in his haste to get to their table quickly. They haven’t had the ability to do this face to face in a while, relying on skype calls instead. But with all the college students back home for spring break, it made more sense to actually sit down and catch up.

“Sorry, sorry. Dad needed me to run some errands and then I got stuck in traffic.” Allison pats his arm understandingly from her seat right next to him.

“It’s cool man, I was late last meeting too. Lydia and Kira just went to the bathroom, you should probably order something before they come back.” Mason’s smile is pure sunshine, and Stiles can’t help but lean over to ruffle his hair. Danny laughs when Mason flinches away, Stiles taking the opportunity to get up and head to the counter. He holds in the long groan he wants to let go of seeing his old classmate Jane as the barista.

Jane, who hates him for no discernable reason and constantly gets his order wrong. Stiles is pretty sure it’s on purpose, if the sour look on her face has anything say about it. 

“Heeeey there Jane, how’s it going?” Stiles hopes she can’t see the fear in his eyes.

“Don’t waste my time, Stilinski. What do you want?” Her hands are crossed tightly around her chest, and if looks could kill Stiles would be six feet underground right now.

“Er...can I have a...vanilla latte?” Stiles hates vanilla lattes. But last time he ordered an americano he got a white chocolate mocha, so he hoped this time around he’d get something less offensive.

“We’re out.” Jane replies lazily.

“Of lattes?”

“That’s what I just _said_.” There’s ice in her voice and fire in her eyes. Stiles has dealt with chimeras that were less scary.

“Right...how about an americano?” He tries.

 

“Out.”

“A mocha?”

“Also out.” There’s a hint of glee that catches in her voice. 

“Just a cup of green tea then.” Stiles is desperate at this point.

“We’re out of tea.”

“What about a cup of coffee?” He tries. 

“Sorry, out.”

“You’re...out of coffee? At a coffee shop?” She smiles dangerously in reply. Before Stiles can say anything, Jordan shouts his name from across the cafe.

Stiles frowns and goes back to their table empty handed. Lydia and Kira are back, the kitsune sliding over what’s left of her cappuccino to him. Stiles isn’t a big fan of cappuccinos either, but it’s better than nothing. He grabs her hand and squeezes in thanks as Jordan goes for a refill of his own drink.

“I don’t get it. Did I do something fucked up to Jane in high school? Did I trip her in the hall by accident? Spill a drink on her? Why does she hate me? Why do bad things happen to semi-decent people?” Stiles laments, staring at the cappuccino sadly.

“Are you missing the part where she was half in love with you in our senior year and you completely blew off her attempts to sleep with you during after prom?” Danny snorts as Stiles’ jaw drops. He’s sputtering while Danny and Lydia laugh at him.

“If we’re done talking about Stiles and his inability to understand when people are flirting with him, maybe we can get on to more important issues?” Parrish’s tone is dry but he looks like he’s holding back a laugh too. Everyone gets in their last jabs before there’s an update on the new threat to Beacon Hills. 

A group of pixies are attempting to make a nest on the preserve, right next to an already established area of faeries. The two creatures had been fighting for the space for the past month or so. It started off harmless, but was quickly spreading out of the preserve and into the public. Hikers were getting lost and showing up again days later with blisters and blood on their feet, crazy stories about dancing with angels on their tongues. The sheriff’s station was bombarded with calls every night of fireworks in the sky, the result of too much magic being released into the air. And despite all that Stiles, Mason, Danny and Lydia looked up, nothing could be found about how to combat the fight that didn’t involve killing the entire clan or pixies or faeries. 

There’s another hiker that’s just been found that Jordan is telling them about, back after four days. From what the pack has gathered, the hikers hear noises from the fighting and go to investigate, and then end up falling into a faerie ring somehow. Stiles and Lydia believe it might be the faeries trying to entice the human to aide them against the pixies, but there hasn’t been much evidence to prove that theory. The cover story, in the meantime, is about a made up cult that’s trying to recruit more members. 

“...So she should be out of questioning soon. We’ve managed to kind of keep it all under the table for right now, but if this happens again there’s going to have to be a press conference about it. It’s not exactly easy to cover up. We posted signs about not hiking in the areas affected, but who knows if people will actually listen.” Jordan shrugs as he finishes, his to-go cup of coffee drained to the last drop.

“And there’s no way of knowing whether it’ll continue to spread, either.” Danny points out.

You all still have your protective gear, right?” There’s nods all around. Mason made a small kit consisting of an iron knife and latin phrases that faeries can understand (according to the lore) when they figured out what they were dealing with. It had become a norm for a pack member to create these kits with each creature they faced, although Stiles firmly believed he made the best ones. Lydia still uses the glitter monstrosity he made to combat the sirens from a year ago as a makeup case in her handbag. 

“Good. Make sure it’s on you at all times. Scott and Derek are gonna try to meet with them again tonight and create a resolution. It didn’t go so well last time as you remember, so I’ll go too. Danny thinks they just felt threatened by having two werewolves there, so hopefully adding a half-human into the mix will settle things down.”

“It’s still an option to add a full human into the mix, too. Just saying.” Stiles adds.

“And if it’s necessary, we will. But for now just stay on alert, carry your kits around, and try to travel in two or more until we’ve dealt with everything. Got it?” Everyone agrees easily, Parrish giving them each hugs before heading back to the station. He runs into Malia on his way out, who takes his seat and snuggles into Kira’s side as her girlfriend updates her on everything Parrish just filled them in on. 

Stiles is diligently licking the crumbs of Danny’s blueberry muffin off a plate and tuning in and out of Lydia’s conversation about classes she wants to take next semester when Mason startles, before punching Stiles lightly and glaring.

“Dude, no werewolves allowed! You’re the one that _made_ that rule!!” 

“What’re you talking about? I didn’t - oh.” Derek is holding the door open for the couple behind him looking all but dead on his feet, the bags under his eyes visible even from where Stiles is sitting. 

Stiles claims innocence at knowing the werewolf would be coming into the shop for coffee, ignoring the eye rolls from most of the table to go join Derek on line. The werewolf makes a confused noise when Stiles latches onto his side, but is quick to wrap an arm around the younger man’s shoulders. 

“What’re you doing here?” Derek’s grip around his shoulders is strong as Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s waist, chin tucked onto his left shoulder. They awkwardly shuffle closer to the front of the line, Stiles backwards while Derek guides him steadily.

“Better question, when was the last time you slept? Considering that you couldn’t figure out that half the gang is here, I’m gonna assume three days ago.” Stiles teases, melting into Derek when his other arm secures itself around Stiles’ back.

“Your dad asked the same thing an hour ago. I’m just grabbing coffee for the station and then heading home to sleep, I promise.”

“How’d you get stuck with coffee duty?” Stiles smiles at the old lady in line behind Derek, who gives him a cheeky wink.

“Greenberg was supposed to make it, but he messed up everyone’s orders last time and nobody wanted to take the chance again.” Stiles snorts before pulling himself off of Derek to stand at his side, arm still secure around his back. Jane is still working but she looks less hostile. Derek slides the list of drinks for the office at her, telling her to put it on the tab for the station. 

“And would you mind adding another drink there, if it’s not too much trouble? Just a doppio with a splash of water, and a slice of lemon. There’s some in the back fridge that the cook keeps around in case this idiot comes in to order his ridiculous drink.” Derek explains, pointing to Stiles before moving to fix the college student’s hair. 

“The lemon brings out the taste of the espresso, Derek! I’m not going to explain this to you and your unrefined palette again, you heathen.”

“Unrefined palette? I once saw you eat a peanut butter sandwich with avocados, pickles, and sriracha.” 

“I was young and experimenting!”

“Stiles, that was last week.” Derek sounds exasperated, and the old lady behind them lets out a burst of cackles. Jane even gives them a rare smile.

Derek’s order is ready a few minutes later, Stiles grabbing his own from the box of drinks. 

“Straight home from the station and into bed?” Stiles is well aware he’s pouting but Derek gives him a fond look.

“I promise.” Stiles nods at the confirmation before helping Derek with the door. He makes his way back to the group, texting Isaac and asking him to make sure Derek makes it to bed alright on the way there.

“Good, you’re back. Settle a debate between Danny and me - do you think Deaton would teach me how to set things on fire with my mind if I asked him nicely?” Lydia asks before Stiles even has the chance to sit down.

He contemplates it, before leaning forward and whispering quietly so only the two of them can hear him. “Y’know, there’s a book back at Stanford that quite thoroughly details a spell that I may or may not have used to pretend to be Goku from Dragon Ball Z once.” 

There’s a moment of silence before the three of them grab all their stuff in a rush, Lydia throwing down a fifty on the table to pay for everything and slightly screaming _sorry we gotta go right now immediately see you later_ at everyone remaining, the trio hurrying into Stiles’ jeep and driving away quickly. The snapchats the rest of the pack gets a few hours later explains it well enough, though. The burn mark Danny accidentally leaves on the wall in Stiles’ dorm, however? Well, it gets covered with a poster.

\---

Stiles manages to take Boyd’s second knight with a lowly pawn before Cora and Isaac take their screaming match outside of Isaac’s room, where it’s been slowly increasing in volume for the past twenty minutes. From the corner of his eye, he sees Mason dejectedly hand a smug looking Liam a twenty dollar bill.

“Amateur.” He whispers, Boyd shaking his head in agreement whilst concentrating on the board.

“In his defense, I don’t think he’s been around when they get like this. Liam played him like a violin.” Kira chimes in from her place on the couch, where she’s lounging and texting Malia. Scott still hasn’t looked up from where he’s bent over his laptop, typing an overdue essay out furiously. 

“You’re acting like a _child_!” Cora’s voice crescendos over the loft. She’s standing in nothing but a bra and a short skirt, Isaac not faring much better in just a pair of boxer briefs.

“ _I’m_ acting like a child? Maybe you should take a look in the mirror, Hale!” Isaac bites back with just as much ferocity. 

“Oh, fuck off, Isaac. You pull this shit every time I even mention it, _every single time_ and I’m so sick of it!”

“If you’re so sick of it, why even bother trying to put up with it?” Isaac sneers, his brain catching up with his words a little too slowly. The atmosphere in the loft changes immediately. Boyd pauses mid move. Kira’s phone falls out of her hand.

“What are you trying to say?” Cora asks dangerously. Isaac swallows, but doesn’t do anything but send her a nasty glare.

“What the _fuck_ are you trying to say?” She’s shaking as she talks, eyes closed as if she’s trying to pretend this isn’t happening. Stiles feels uncomfortable being a part of such a private moment, sharing an uneasy look with Scott.

“I - I can’t do this.” There’s a heavy silence in the loft when Cora speaks again, everyone too tense to even move. She walks over on shaky legs to the door, slipping on the sweatshirt Mason left near the door in her wake. Her eyes are sad and glassy when she turns to Isaac. “Call me when you can actually speak again, you absolute _coward_.” 

Isaac’s response is to pick up the closest object - an empty vase - and smash it against the wall. Stiles winces when he sees bits of glass embed themselves into Isaac’s cheek. The werewolf responds by growling angrily and slamming the door shut as he stomps into his room. More crashing objects follow.

“That was...dramatic.” Mason finally comments, right before the door opens to reveal a confused Derek. He looks at the pack strewn about the loft, then to the glass on the floor, and finally to the door of Isaac’s room before letting out a frustrated noise and turning his head up toward the sky, frustration turning into a drawn out groan.

The last time Derek was home was three days ago, and this wasn’t exactly the welcome he was hoping for. Stiles thinks about how hard the werewolf has been working to combat the pixies problem, and refuses to give Derek any less than he deserves for his hard work. Stiles glances around the room quickly before standing up.

“Right. Allison, sub in for me. Kira, I need to you make that avocado honey mask thing that you do on girl’s night in, quickly please. Liam, help her with that. Mason, go over to Cora’s place and make sure she’s not destroying it. Talk her down if you can. Actually - Scotty, help him with that yeah? Oh, and no one touch the glass! That’s Isaac’s job to clean, capiche?” 

There’s a ringing silence that permeates the room before there’s a flurry of people moving, Stiles grabbing Derek by the sleeve and hauling him toward the bathroom amidst the chaos. The college student manages to turn the faucet on for the bath while methodically unclasping the first three buttons on Derek’s shirt. He gets his hand slapped away by a grumbling werewolf, who moves to finish the buttons. Stiles turns and grabs the lavender scented bubble bath that Derek favors, pouring half the remaining bottle into the tub.

“You’re going to strip out of your clothes and take a quick shower before taking this calm and relaxing bath, after which you’re going to sleep for longer than two hours straight in the past...what is it, three weeks? No arguing.” Stiles pushes when he sees Derek open his mouth to protest. “Just relaxing. I’m gonna go have a talk with Isaac, which will end happily. I promise.”

Stiles points to the shower and narrows his eyes before walking out, grinning to himself when he hears a rush of water coming from it. He turns into the supply closet, taking out a broom and dustpan before marching into Isaac’s room. Boyd is resignedly watching his pack mate tear up what Stiles assumes to be some sort of prose piece written about Cora, which only causes him to sigh.

“I take it you won the game.” Stiles wagers, ripping the journal out of Isaac’s hand and throwing it at Boyd.

“Took seven moves after you left.”

“Damn, she’s getting better huh?”

“Maybe she’ll teach Scott a thing or two.” Stiles makes a noise of agreement while handing Isaac the broom and pointing to the broken glass. Isaac looks like he’s about to put up a fight, but Boyd coughs quietly and the blonde beta turns his anger into sweeping instead. Stiles gives Boyd a nod of appreciation, before making his way into Derek’s room.

He grabs the softest shirt and sweatpants he can feel, not in the least bit surprised to find that the shirt belongs to Scott, and walking into the bathroom. Derek’s in the tub now, eyes closed and surrounded by bubbles while Kira paints the avocado face mask on with a brush. Liam’s concentrating on cutting a cucumber into slices for what Stiles assumes to be Derek’s eyes, while Scott sits on the ledge of the tub, softly reading out the text from a book on Derek’s kindle. Stiles looks at them all fondly, setting down the clothes next to the tub and giving Liam a kiss on the top of his head that makes the younger boy whine, but Stiles sees a bright smile on his face afterward. He ruffles Scott’s hair as he goes back to Isaac, who’s finished cleaning the glass and has a broken dustpan to show for it. 

Stiles sighs, taking the broom back and doing a final sweep before heralding Isaac back into his room and shutting the door behind them. Isaac huffs and lies on the bed, eyes glued to the ceiling. Stiles sits carefully next to him, letting silence permeate the air.

“I’m _fine_. You don’t have to baby-sit me.” Isaac’s arms are crossed and there’s a scowl on his face when he speaks up a few moments later.

“Maybe I just want the company, Lahey.” His answer causes Isaac to snort.

“I’m the last person you’d want company with, Stilinski.” 

“Well then, _maybe_ I just wanted to make sure you were okay, idiot.”

“I said I’m fine!”

“Saying and being are two different things, Isaac.” Stiles gently pushes a hand through Isaac’s curls, not in the least bit surprised when the werewolf moves to put his head in Stiles’ lap.

“Thank you so much for that, Rene Descartes.” Isaac deadpans back, whining when Stiles pulls his hair in retaliation.

“So….Cora, am I right?” Isaac sighs at Stiles’ tone.

“You’re so bad at this.”

“I know, I know. I would’ve sent Scott but I was scared he would’ve tried to mention his perfect relationship with Ally A and make you feel even more bummed out.”

“I’m not bummed out, I just don’t want to move in with her!”

“Is that what the fight was about?”

“Yeah, I guess. I like living here, I like my own room and space. Derek leaves me alone. I won’t get that kind of freedom living with my girlfriend.” Stiles snorts at this, Isaac peering up at him curiously.

“Isaac, have you mentioned any of this to Cora? Because dude, she seems like the _chillest girlfriend ever_. Seriously, I think you’ve been watching too many rom coms or something.”

“She’ll call me if I’m home too late! Hell, she does that _now_ and we’re not even living together!”

“Well yeah, because she wants to make sure a werelion didn’t kidnap you or anything.”

“And I won’t have my personal space!”

“You mean the dining room you converted into an office space will suddenly disappear? Cora never goes in there anyway!”

“Yeah well...maybe I’m just scared, alright? It’s kind of a big step, moving in together. What if we hate it? What if we’re incompatible, sharing the same space?”

“You’re never gonna know if you don’t try, Isaac. Cora cares for you, and you obviously care about her. Maybe you could do a test run or something, I don’t know. What I _do_ know is that you’re both essential to each other’s happiness, and you can’t let a stupid fight like this one ruin it.”

Isaac sighs and sits up, digging around the floor of his room for a pair of socks. “I’m gonna go talk to her. But if she spits in my face, I’m blaming you.”

“You’re welcome, you ungrateful brute.” Stiles teases, watching Isaac pull on his boots.

“If you mention this to anyone, I’m going to deny it until the day I die.” Isaac promises, before pulling Stiles into a tight hug.

“Might wanna put a shirt on before you head out, champ.”

“Nah, something tells me I wouldn’t have it on for long anyway.” Isaac smirks, Stiles laughing as he grabs his keys and runs out the door.

Stiles considers tidying up a bit before leaving, but shrugs and makes his way out. Isaac can deal with it later. Scott is back to typing away on his laptop while the rest of the pack sans Derek seems to be involved in a heated game of Risk. Stiles makes his way into the master bedroom, where Derek has his back against the headboard, case file in front of him. 

“Hey, no. None of that.” Stiles takes it out of his hands, putting it on the bedside table.

“But-”

“Derek, _no_. You need a few hours of uninterrupted rest. No case files, no station, no phone calls, no nothing. Just sleep.” Derek sighs, but nods his head nonetheless.

“You’re right.”

“I usually am.” Stiles agrees. Derek rolls his eyes, but settles into bed.

“Stay with me?”

“Whatever you want, Sam Smith.” Derek laughs, eyes crinkling as he burrows deeper into his blankets. Stiles lounges on top of them, watching Derek fondly. 

“Scott’ll want me to proof read his essay soon, though.” Derek hums and nods, but Stiles can tell he’s a few breaths away from the land of the unconscious.

“I’m gonna to check on that right now, actually. And I think Mason wanted to order from that sushi place near the station for dinner. I’ll save you a couple of spider rolls and we can eat them together and complain about Greenberg when you inevitably wake up at 3am.” 

“Mkay. It’s a date.” Stiles rolls his eyes, but gets up and gives the older man a soft kiss on the forehead, gripping the back of his neck gently before moving to leave the room. He hears soft snores before he even makes it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!! this is just an edited version of this chapter, BUT I WILL HAVE THE NEXT ONE UP TOMORROW!!


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